


The Moon and the Mortal

by farfetched



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Agender Tsukishima Kei, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguously romantic?, Animal Shifter, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting to Know Each Other, Kitsune Yaku, M/M, Magic, Starting Over, Starting a new life, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tsukishima is a Moon God, could be seen as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: Our story starts with the moon. Obscured by a receding storm cloud, it hangs low in the sky, a thin crescent staring at all that happens below it. It has always been adept at watching, observing humanity and the coils of mortality far beyond it, an immortal presence, revered and feared all at once.It watches, on this particular night, as a figure makes their way through recently rain-soaked foliage, dewdrops glistening in the moonlight falling around them in an ethereal chorus, almost silent. Rivulets fall as their hand drags over and through the brush, as they listen to the sound of nothingness. Their pack weighs heavily upon their back, not only with mortal weight, but with trepidation.[Yamaguchi strays into the forest, dissatisfied with the world they were born into. A chance meeting with a moon god, a deal, and a youkai town offers him new hope, and a new life.]
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	The Moon and the Mortal

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for very vague references to transphobia off screen prior to the story, and suicidal thoughts where there is an intervention before they are acted upon. Both of these are resolved fairly early on.

Our story starts with the moon. Obscured by a receding storm cloud, it hangs low in the sky, a thin crescent staring at all that happens below it. It has always been adept at watching, observing humanity and the coils of mortality far beyond it, an immortal presence, revered and feared all at once. 

It watches, on this particular night, as a figure makes their way through recently rain-soaked foliage, dewdrops glistening in the moonlight falling around them in an ethereal chorus, almost silent. Rivulets fall as their hand drags over and through the brush, as they listen to the sound of nothingness. Their pack weighs heavily upon their back, not only with mortal weight, but with trepidation.

The moon sees them, as they contemplate dropping from the spirals of humanity, becoming something far more transient, an unknown. They have already started, although there is hope yet; for the moon also sees the trail of orange ribbon tied around tree trunks at sporadic intervals. Just far enough to not be too obvious, but close enough to follow, should they wish to return. 

Onwards, they trek. Up and down the warped rotations of the earth beneath them, compelled by a kind of tiredness built on the foundations of years, of wishes and hopes to flee their situation. Each step is laboured but sure, and the moon watches each one with a careful, calculating gaze. It does not understand. How can it, for isolation has been its company for so long? 

It can do nothing but watch. There is but one way it may appear to them, but it is unlikely. There is an entrancement with this figure, it would think, with the way they have caught its eye, and held it. With half an earth to see, there is no reason for its normally fleeting gaze to be held so. Yet it remains to be held, and it finds itself hoping. 

Hoping that that figure should cross paths with it at an intersection it may appear within. 

Our story starts beneath a moon. It shall end beneath one, as well.

* * *

Tadashi pauses to tie a ribbon around the tree, heart sinking as he does so. The very thought of returning kindles within him such a sense of dread, but he cannot stay out here forever. The thought of letting go is a terrifying one, and so he remains, as ever, tied to a world he cannot belong in. Tied to a world that will never fully understand, never fully accept, and never fully welcome him. 

Some would see the ribbons as hope. A small spark that may prove he may yet return to that world he is tied to. That he has not given up yet. 

He sees them as cowardice. Never fully committed to any cause, not even his own; the further he gets into the forest, the more preeminent his oncoming choices become, and the more overwhelming they seem. Out here, he is free, although with a time scale. Back there, he has no time scale, but he is not even a hint of the word free. 

Yet still, he ties them, and moves on. The ground beneath him roils, as much a reflection of his inner turmoil as the physical undulations. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, aside from ‘lost’, and seeks nothing except somewhere in silence to contemplate his choices. As though it is not what he has been doing for years now. 

His jacket is torn and shredded. His trousers are sodden with latent moisture left on leaves and branches, as are his socks and shoes. He’s cold, shivers running down to his bones, and half of him wishes direly for an onsen, to burn through everything. But that also includes seeing his body, so different from how he desires it to be, and not for the first time, he wishes none of this had ever happened. 

He’s never wished for normalcy quite so much as he has now. 

But he keeps walking. Entirely imagined, his breathing gets a little easier with every step away from civilisation he takes. There’s a peace in this forest he’s always loved, although he’s never been in this deep, nor strayed so far from the trails. It consumes all sound, and perhaps it ought to be ominous, no birds singing and no noise except the wind faintly rustling treetops; he cannot find it in him to be scared. Even though he knows there are souls here, he feels a kinship with them. Perhaps it is merely because he may join them, that he does not feel threatened. 

So he keeps walking. He’s tired, and cold, but he feels more peaceful than he has in years. It’s a heavy decision he has come to make, and it weighs on him, but knowing that he will not be called a name he hasn’t called his own in years tomorrow at work, by those who never attempted to understand; knowing he will not incite whispers by merely being present; knowing he has escaped the eternal judgement of bigoted humans – it lends surety to his steps, grants him safe course onwards. 

The moon is even lighting his way, the storm clouds of earlier passing on through. It feels like a blessing, a guiding light; under the moonlight, he is free to be exactly who he is. It is sunlight that burns, sunlight that drains him, under sunlight he is found unworthy. 

That very sunlight he seeks to escape in this forest.

* * *

The more distance he puts between himself and the human world, the more that distance makes itself apparent. The quiet rustling of the trees segues into sounding like whispers, in a thousand languages never spoken by mortals. He sees shreds of cloth caught high up in the trees, except he is not so certain that those are indeed cloths, not when they feel like eyes on him, watching. They don't seem to stay still, only catching glimpses of them from the corner of his eyes; he could swear there had not been this many before, nor were there likely to be this many. They dart away when he tries to look directly at them, leaving only a rustling sound that echoes in the space. 

Halting his steps abruptly, he waits, one foot before the other, and listens. 

The whispers stop, all of a sudden. The eyes on him seem to intensify, boring into his soul. He takes a breath. 

"I would like to apologise for trespassing," he starts, shakily. He'd feel stupid for addressing no one in a forest, except he has never felt less watched. “But I can’t go back. Not yet. If you could just let me stay, just for a while?” 

There is a murmur among the trees, one that, perhaps, he may have mistaken for the wind, had he not felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. 

It stops once more. In the silence, a question. 

" _Why,_ " breathes the trees.  
" _Why,_ " creaks the ground.  
" _Why,_ " whispers the sky.  
" _Why,_ " the spirits ask, a chorus of curiosity. 

And the moon watches on. 

"They don't want me," Tadashi starts, hesitant, then laughs to himself, a bitter sound indeed. "I don't want me." 

A hush in the forest around him, it settles back to a normal level. Tadashi would think himself ignored, allowed to pass through but nothing more. He feels a burgeoning disappointment, despite his knowledge that these spirits are obligated to give him nothing. It feels too much like reality, avoided and ignored, voice going mute to those he needed most. He prepares himself to walk on, and feels himself teeter closer to that edge he’s been approaching for years now. With fresh disappointment, and so close to those who have passed, he feels as though he looks over the precipice. Falling feels like a much easier task in the dark, with this pain. 

But there is a small sound, not unlike a match catching light; he glances up until, before him, he sees a faint light. He gasps, entranced by its beauty as it grows stronger. A warm blue light, entirely ethereal, it hovers in mid-air, flickering gently. Merely seeing it burns away a modicum of the helplessness. It darts away from his fingers as he seeks to trail his fingers through it, to see if it should burn him. He smiles, a foreign thing to him nowadays. 

Beyond it, another appears. Then another, and another. A path they make, off into the distance, winding away into the forest. 

It is a warning, or a blessing. Perhaps it is both; time shall yet tell. But Tadashi is as weak as he is tired, and his soul is most fatigued. Willing his feet onwards, he steps towards a blue light. A will 'o wisp, perhaps, he pondered as he trails after them, each winking out as he gets too close. He feels them as much as sees them as they coalesce behind him, and he wonders if they have any kind of sentience. Maybe they lead him to his doom and watch with the morbid curiosity of a roman crowd afore gladiators; maybe they pity him. Maybe they just wish to see his reaction. He wonders if he has, in agreeing to follow them, assigned himself a certain doom. He wonders if he is too inclined to care. If someone should take that decision out of his hands, he thinks he'd not be too upset; as a final resting place, this is a good one. Mayhap he might become a phantom guiding light, luring other travellers off their paths. 

It sounds a better life than the one he leads. One cannot misgender a ball of light, nor a will ‘o wisp. 

Enthralled by the childlike glee of following them, he leaves his trail of ribbons behind. He leaves everything behind, and perhaps even in that unconscious decision, makes his choice. 

By the time he reaches the clearing, he’s been walking for a while. There’s a whole host of wisps behind him, a constant murmur that comforts him immensely, and with their encouragement, he steps into the clearing. 

It is, as he looks around himself, completely circular. Perhaps too circular, and the path he seemed to have been following has all but disappeared. It is not a large clearing – Tadashi would estimate it at approximately ten paces across – and within it, the grass is unkempt but lively, and white wildflowers smatter the space. In the very centre, a small rock. It feels like a totally natural space, as though humans have never set foot here – or never been allowed. 

Maybe he is the first to step into this clearing. It seems an odd thought, and yet, something about it resonates. He smiles a small smile, and at the encouragement of the wisps, lays down. 

His exhaustion reaches new heights upon stopping. The wisps lend him warmth, and comfort, a long sought commodity, and when he closes his eyes, it is the first time in years that he has felt safe. 

The moon watches on as Tadashi, finally, falls asleep.

* * *

Before him stands a god. This he knows with a certainty equal to the uncertainty of _how_ he knows: he is viscerally aware that the form in front of him is a god, and he jumps up swiftly to bow appropriately. Or rather, folds in half, uncomfortable as breathing gets. 

“I am honoured, but there is no need to discomfort yourself.” The god says, almost blithely. Tadashi worries that he has upset the god, and does not move. From this angle, he can only see their feet, shod in olden day geta shoes, raised an inch or so from the ground. He can see the ends of a fantastical kimono, and raises his head just a little; it seems less like a fabric and more akin to woven light, attaining the same magic of moonlight on clear nights. It shifts somehow, nothing he can grasp with his mortal eyes, but it seems as though it is a bright winter morning, crescent moon still eminent in the sky yet; it is a summer night watching the moon rising from the heat haze; it is a spring new moon, dark and new beginnings; it is an autumn harvest moon, calming white light blessing each crop in its field. It is all, and it is none; whichever it is, it holds him entranced. 

“I believe I told you there was no need to discomfort yourself.” The god remarks again, and these words carry power, power that forces Tadashi to stand upright. 

The god, the appearance of which he had so quickly dismissed observing in order to show reverence, is tall, not unlike Tadashi, although they are certainly taller still, and with the geta sandals, they tower above him. They have milky blond hair, cut short to the scalp, and piercing grey eyes, currently occupied with boring into Tadashi, one eyebrow elegantly raised, and mouth twisted into a smirk. Behind him, Tadashi feels the wisps fluttering and whispering. Their kimono is utterly mesmerising, now he is filled with enough air to appreciate it. It emanates the comfort of a warm autumn night, of sitting under the stars and being alone, but not feeling lonely. 

Tadashi finds himself quite wanting, with damp trousers and dirt stained, ripped clothes. He’s quite certain that he has never, and could never in his life, be as entrancing as this god before him, nor even a tiny fraction of it. He feels himself shrink, his shoulders pulling in as by habit, hands creeping across his body to hold each other in their shaking state. He averts his gaze, and bites his lip. 

“Do you not speak, mortal?” The god asks of him, and Tadashi feels his face grow hot with familiar shame. 

“I do.” He murmurs, feeling his feet start to point inwards. Perhaps this is the doom the wisps have lead him to. 

Perhaps, with this, he will fall off this coil as mortals are wont to do. 

“Then tell me how you find yourself here, before me.” The god demands, and Tadashi winces. He sounds a little like his boss, sounds a lot like the demands he’s desperate to leave behind, and Tadashi finds his foot sliding backwards. 

“I humbly apologise, your holiness. I shall leave and not return.” He bows his head deeply, and shuffles further backwards. The wisps behind him chitter, likely at his cowardice. He thinks of ropes, and knots he’s practiced a hundred times. He thinks of sharpened knives. He thinks of multitudes of medications, a lethal concoction of help when he puts them altogether. 

No, he shan’t be back again. His cowardice can take him away from this shame. A single act of bravery will invite death, and he shall fall into its caress with no regrets. 

“You need not leave!”  
Tadashi only stops because it is a god. He keeps his head bowed.  
“Do you need something of me?” he whispers, unable to trust his voice. 

“It is… _uncommon_ , that circumstances align for myself to appear here, called down by a presence. I wish to know how it occurred.” 

“The wisps lead me here.” He whispers, only paused in his escape. Gods have no dealings with plain mortals like him. He is no hero, no figure in history, has nothing to his name but a meagre apartment. Gods will leave him be, and he shall, in that moment, leave forever. 

“I see. It is unusual for a mortal to see them. Do you have yokai blood?” Tadashi snaps his head up at that, puzzled. The god is frowning at him. “Most strange.” They murmur, more to themselves than anything. Tadashi wonders if he has been found wanting, as usual. “Nonetheless. Where are my manners. Please do sit.” 

The god stretches one hand out across his body, and in one movement that appears more akin to dancing than it ought, sweeps it in an arc, his kimono shimmering. Tadashi blinks, and finds a translucent low table to suddenly be present, on it a teapot on a small stove, and a box, which he presumes holds a tea set. 

Stunned, he sits without thought. Perhaps he has already passed, for this is far too fantastical to be a reality. The god makes to sit. 

“Won’t-” Tadashi starts, then snaps his mouth shut, certain he is overstepping. The god arches an eyebrow at him, the implication being that to not continue would be a greater transgression. “Won’t your kimono get muddy?” 

The god looks down at themself, as though only just realising this.  
“It shan’t. Tea?” They return, as they seem to float downwards rather than sit. Their legs fold underneath them with such grace Tadashi can only stare as they do it, their kimono glimmering, and shifting through numerous phases before settling on a lucent half-moon in early dawn light. 

Tadashi, caught up in the beauty, nods mindlessly, and watches each delicate move with baited breath. The god takes a small spoonful of matcha from an ornate black pot enrobed in intricate golden inlay, and puts it into a stone bowl. They lift the kettle and pour a stream of steaming water into the bowl. The water shines, as through caught by some light Tadashi cannot see. Now he thinks of it, the entire clearing has more light than it ought to hold, in the midst of night. The wisps have remained, largely clustered around him, but also hovering about the space, looking like stars attending earth for the night. It still does not account for the full glow within the clearing, he thinks. 

With practiced motions, they whisk the matcha, and pour it into two cups, one decorated in the variegated autumnal foliage and the other painted with sakura flowers. They push the autumnal cup over towards Tadashi, raising their eyes to watch as Tadashi automatically turns it once, twice, thrice, and drinks. 

It is bitter, as always, but cleansing. It cuts through all of his emotions, cuts through the hatred, the fear, and the fatigue. 

Tadashi, in that moment, feels weightless. 

His eyes widen, and the god’s eyes change somehow, an infinitesimal change Tadashi cannot link to any reaction he would understand. He drops his eyes again, but takes another sip of matcha, feeling as though drowned in still waters, in a quiescent peacefulness that transcends words. He feels his shoulders relax, his muscles loosen. He watches out of his peripheral vision as the god takes the sakura cup and sips it. 

And, minimally, smiles. It’s a mere twitch of the lips upwards, nothing solid or lasting, but enough. They too seem to be put at ease, although Tadashi cannot truly say if they were ever off-balanced. He does not know them – and it hits him that he is sat here, in the middle of forest he’s intending to be his final resting place, drinking tea with a god. The insanity of it all bubbles up into a laugh, suppressed but still audible. He gets a raised eyebrow. 

“This can’t actually be happening.” Tadashi sighs, resting his cup on the table once more, hands still wrapped around it loosely. It is warm, and he allows that sensation to be shared with his fingers. “I come here to die and meet a god who offers me tea. This is ridiculous.” He looks down at the table, surprised by the ease he had with verbalising his intents to be here. It’s a marbled pattern, oranges to reds to blacks, and he gets the feeling he could stare at it for hours. “It’s not real.” 

He hears a snort, and looks up. The god has propped his elbow on his table, resting his chin in his hand and looking at him.  
“What would make it real?” They ask, languid, as though expecting this. “What makes anything real? Am I not to believe I am here with you, because you think it untrue? I am inclined to trust that I was able to descend and appear here.” They spread their arms out. “Trust in your senses. Do you not taste that tea? Do you not see my form? Do you not hear my words, and that of the forest? Do you not smell the lingering rains, the scent of the forest? Do you not hold that teacup in your own two hands, and feel its craft, its origin?” 

Tadashi is numb to do anything but nod. It is true, that no dream of his has ever been so tangible, nor such a visceral experience. The emotion is there like all his dreams, but the rest- it must be true. Unequivocally, he is here. 

The god smiles as they must recognise the realisation cross Tadashi’s face. 

“Would you care for a namagashi?” 

And Tadashi takes it. It takes the form of a mochi wrapped in a thin leaf, so close to the real thing it is only by touch that he knows it is not a true leaf. The veins are there, and it is held artificially mid-turning red. Tadashi almost feels sorry for eating it, such is its exquisite beauty, but he feels it would be an insult to refuse at this point; to honour it, he takes it and lets it slowly dissolve in his mouth. 

It is no taste he has ever tasted before, and he’s quite certain it is not of earthly descent. It is exactly everything he would hope from a perfect sweet, not too cloying, not too sweet, enough tang to carry it. With it, again, he feels his emotions settle from a heavy storm to a light patter of rain on windows. His tiredness seems to melt away into the earth, along with his pain, not erased, but whittled down to a weight he might manage. 

“Now. You have your choices, I believe you know them.” The god mentions after a good while of Tadashi basking in a freedom he’s seldom felt. He feels it start to creep up again, his shoulders rising just recalling the hell he’s walked away from. He cannot go back. 

“I can’t go back there.” He whispers, because with a weight taken off, the thought of death is no longer as tempting as it felt. He’s just become more stuck. If he returns, he can be sure that it will not be long before he returns with the same intentions, and this time, he may not meet a benevolent god. 

“Then do not.” They state bluntly. “Finish your tea, and I will offer you a third choice, and a deal.” Tadashi looks at his tea, growing slowly cold. It will numb the trepidation, he knows. He also thinks that he has walked through hell. He can at least hear the option. 

He downs it, and raises his eyes to meet the god’s. The god smirks. 

“Your third option is to travel onwards from here and find the yokai town. It may be where you belong, or it may eat you alive. I know not the result, but I can send you with protection. My deal is that wherever you should choose to travel, you will be my eyes, my ears. My hands, my mouth, my nose. Bring to me my senses of which I am robbed. I only ask to live through you, and I shall afford you the protection you shall need to attain that.” 

There surely must be a downside. It seems too good to be true, too simple to take it at face value, and yet- there is a sincerity to this god, unlike anyone Tadashi has ever met. The wisps surrounding them chitter excitedly, as Tadashi mulls it over. 

“If- if it is too much there, am I released?” Tadashi asks, shy. He is ashamed for thinking so, but with the prejudices of the human world, he’s learnt to be cautious. The god smiles wryly.  
“I have plenty of matcha, and not a single person to share it with. The winds do not care for sitting down much. I shall release you if it is unbearable,” the god intones, but his eyes gain a cold look, a warning that freezes Tadashi in place, “But I will know if you lie.” 

Tadashi gulps, wondering truly what he has gotten himself into. Equally though, he has little choice. Between death and hell, he can only choose the unknown third option, and hope it proves better than the others. He nods, slowly, and the god smiles, all foreboding erased, but not exactly forgotten. Tadashi remembers with a crystal clarity that he sits before a god. Gods do as they choose, and he is a pawn in this scheme. Maybe one with a use, but he is not irreplaceable. 

With a further sweep of their hand, they vanish the table and everything on it, and Tadashi irrationally wonders about whether he ought to have offered to wash it, or offer some other kind of recompense. The god stands, and steps over to him. He looms over Tadashi, and his eyes seem to gain a white glow. 

“Close your eyes.” The god commands, again with power laced between their words. His eyes close automatically, and Tadashi holds his breath. 

A crescent is slowly drawn onto his forehead with one thumb, a sure, sweeping arc, alongside an incomprehensible murmur, far beyond any earthly language Tadashi had ever heard. Behind his eyelids, there is a growing light, which feels as though it envelopes him completely.  
"My protection shall hold you from immortal whims, should you not wish it. It shall hold you from subtle magics, their swaying of minds. It shall not make you immortal, and it lasts only one day, weakened as my hold is in my absence. Each night, as I rise anew, you shall return here and I shall renew the spell. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee your safety." The words are soft, but they engrave themselves deeply into his mind. Tadashi has the notion that he shall not be found to simply ‘forget’ to return. “You may open your eyes.” 

His vision returns to be filled with a godly face. This close, Tadashi cannot help but notice the ethereal beauty to them, and just the merest hint of trouble lurking behind their nonchalant façade. 

“I need a name to refer to you. Not your full name. Gift that to no one, it has power over you despite my protections.” The god says, as Tadashi tries to find his breath.  
“Yamaguchi.” He gets a nod in return. 

“Do not let me down, Yamaguchi.” 

“I won’t.” 

And as he says it, he realises he believes it. It is new, saying things he means.

* * *

The wisps return his pack to him, and he shrugs it on and heads off, the god watching him leave, their kimono reminiscent of a dark new moon sky. He’s not totally sure how he is meant to find his way back here, but the wisps seem to stick with him, and he wonders if they will aid him. 

It is a mere ten minutes later that he hears faint strains of music. A few minutes later, in which is swells into a pleasant tune, a pleasing volume, he sees lights trickling through the thick layers of the forest, then realises it is swiftly thinning out. 

Finally stepping out into the street, he stops, breath stolen from him. 

It is a market like no other he has seen; it stretches on beyond his sight in both – all directions. He gets the distinct feeling like he is not seeing it all, or maybe he’s seeing things that aren’t. There are some ordinary stalls – every market must have a fruit stall, of course, although the- the being behind the stall is hardly humanesque, more of a tree, branches twisting to smack the hand of a fox that creeps towards a delectable looking apple. In the same second, it seems to be bargaining with a tall lady, long ears poking out from behind her hair, down to her ankles. Besides her, another being with long pointed ears, and a hooked nose; her hair is shorter than Tadashi’s. 

What draws him, however, is the way their hands are held together, a defiant show of togetherness. Except… it is not defiant. It just is. He can tell in the way they are not focused on it at all, not looking around, not holding themselves like a defence, not putting on armour in the way they stand. As he watches, a being hovers up to them, and opens conversation totally unrelated. Nobody mentions it. 

There are less usual stalls. On one, seemingly unmanned, a cauldron bubbles away ominously. On another, there are a multitude of jars, filled with things Tadashi doesn’t wish to know about. There is another proclaiming candles with the ability to calm the user, right next to spell books and small cauldrons for sale. 

A being with a singular milky eye and dreadlocked hair seems to watch him. They hold a gnarled hand up, and beckon him with one crooked finger. He feels a tug, and watches their face twist in puzzlement for a mere second, before it splits into a smile, and then they beckon again. Another tug, and Tadashi gets the distinct feeling that without the moon gods’ protection, he’d be forced to follow that command. He walks the other way. Behind him, he hears an exasperated cry of ‘Grandma! You’re scaring the customers again!’, and laughs faintly, but does not turn. He does not want a fortune, not yet. Not ever.

His heart beats a bit faster, eyes darting around. He’s only been here a few minutes, and already he’s been attempted to be swayed – he recalls the warning the god gave him, and decides to heed it. Squaring his shoulders, he tries to look at ease despite being utterly lost and feeling small. Diving into a quiet alley behind a tree, he takes a big breath. He needs to be calm, and stay calm. If he is to be the senses of a god, he needs to observe, needs to live. Although the god had not mentioned how he was meant to build a life here. Perhaps didn’t think of it – why would a god need to consider the banalities of day-to-day living, after all. 

It occurs to him that he could just give up right now. That would be the easiest thing. He still has all the things he needed to leave, after all. He could just walk back into the woods, and get on with it. 

But… the intrigue is more than the fear. No one can possibly know him here. No one knows what he used to be, who he used to be, and in that sense, he has to have little fear. Maybe here, they might be a little more welcoming, even if they do find out. He may have more problem being found out as a human than as a transgender individual, which is, ironically, refreshing. 

He glances back at the market around the tree. It’s the backs of stalls here, most of the cloth flaps closed to keep the heat in. He catches the scent of something cooking, and his mouth waters – he’s not eaten anything since lunchtime aside from the namagashi, and wonderful as it was, it did not fill him up. Maybe he can get some. Food will help ground him, and maybe he can find a seat and think about what his plan is. 

Taking another deep breath, he steels himself to be seen again- then pauses to let a fox trot past, giving him a quick look. It pauses just in front of the market, and in a flash paws become feet, its tail disappears, and in its place stands a small man, ginger hair the same shade of the fox who stood there before, who looks back at him over his shoulder. 

“God-protected one, you have nothing to fear here. It is a powerful God who has chosen you. Hold that in mind and walk tall.” He remarks, and rounds the corner without waiting for a response. It leaves Tadashi with a thousand questions – how did he know he was protected by a god? Had the moon god chosen him truly, or found a suitable vessel? How did he know he was afraid? – but it does give him a new confidence. He nods to himself, and returns to the market. 

This time, he stands there for a moment to truly observe. The night sky above is clear, and he smiles at the moon when he sees it between thousands of lights strung up overhead. Each stall seems different, some empty, some with notes telling customers they shall shortly return, others bustling with activity. The fox is nowhere to be seen in the crowd, not so thick as to be suffocating, but enough to feel busy. 

No single direction sings to him, so he just picks the one that he thinks the scent of freshly cooked food is coming from. While he walks, he tries to drink in all the sights; far too many to process for one single human. Several foxes scamper in play, and he wonders whether they too are kitsune. A cloaked figure goes past speaking to her companion, except all Tadashi hears is the trickle of waterfalls. There are numerous stands with magical wares, and Tadashi tries not to stare too much. One is full of books, and although some seem to be spellbooks, he also notes a long, long stall with books he recognises. Another holds entirely manga, and the stallholder tries to catch his attention to no avail; Tadashi has found the source of the smell. 

A yakisoba stand, squashed in between a stall with lizards in hundreds of cages staring beadily out, and a loud man shouting about some cause or another. Tadashi feels his mouth water, and looks across to the menu. It all looks so good, the food being passed to dozens of eager hands smells delectable, and Tadashi is so very hungry. 

But he doesn’t recognise the currency being passed around. 

Still, the pangs in his stomach override his disappointment, and he reasons that there is no harm in asking. He sidles up to the counter, and waits his turn. Soon enough, a girl leans over, calico cat ears poking out from her head, and one hand – although not quite a hand, more of a paw – rests in the air by her left side. Now he looks, she is covered in a thin layer of fur, and she smiles toothily at him. 

“Can I help you with anything today, sirrrr?” she says, and Tadashi cannot help but smile. She called him sir! Still, he needs to ask his question. 

“Ah! Yes, um, do you take Yen?” he asks. She grins merrily.  
“Of course!” He heaves a great sigh of relief, and his stomach gurgles merrily at the prospect.  
“Can I have a chicken one then, please?”  
“Of course! That’ll be 1000 yen, if you purrlease!” She stretches out her right hand, and he swiftly puts a note in it, and waits. 

As soon as he gets it, mere minutes later, he struggles not to eat it right there and then. Although there don’t seem to be any seats available in the immediate vicinity, it takes him only a matter of minutes to find one a little further away from the forest. He shares it with a man with the hind legs of a goat or similar, hooves to match. He is shortly joined by another tall man, likely from the same stall, as he holds two bowls of yakisoba, and hands one to the faun. They seem content to ignore him and chat among themselves – although mostly the taller one at the faun. The taller one looks humanoid, but Tadashi gets the feeling that whoever he looks at, whatever they look like, no one here is human. None of them are likely exactly what they seem. 

The yakisoba feels like it’s been sent from above, such is the taste and his hunger. He doesn’t think he’s eaten anything faster in his life. That eaten, he stares out into the crowd, and ponders his next moves. If he’s to avoid going back, he’s going to need to get a job, something that allows him to go back out to report to the god. Menial labour, probably, which… might be a problem. He’s not exactly unfit, but equally, the whole changing room dilemma makes him avoid the communal baths like the plague. He runs sometimes, but even that is difficult most of the time, if... _they_ aren’t secured well enough. He’s lucky enough not to be incredibly well endowed in that area, but sometimes even with the tightest bandages he can manage, it’s often not enough to stop all movement. 

Sighing, he guesses his next best move is to find a room to sleep in. He can’t have had more than a few hours of sleep, and the fatigue will surely hit him soon. He’s also bereft of many things – he only has a few clothes with him, having not exactly planned to return or stay in the forest for long. He doesn’t have much money – didn’t want to attract any attention by taking out a lot of money, and it would have been worthless anyway, with his original plan. 

Maybe if he went back to his apartment tomorrow, he could get some other things, but equally, he already sticks out like a sore thumb. If he’s to build a new life here instead, he needs to blend in. He’s noticed a few eyes on him. 

And he really cannot go back now. 

No, he’ll stay here tonight, regardless. All other decisions can follow on from that. 

He asks the two men where there is accommodation; they point him into the town, a little bewildered – possibly unused to newcomers here – and he manages to find enough money and look pathetic enough that the third innkeeper he tries takes the yen and gives him a small room. It has a shower and a bed, which is all he needs. He gets clean and warm, collapses into the bed, and falls into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

The sun is skimming the horizon when he finally awakens. 

The knocking on the door follows him out of his dreams, vague and indecipherable after waking, and he sluggishly answers it. One of the cleaning persons is standing there, looking irritated. 

“You’re supposed ta clear out around now. You stayin’, or leavin’?” They challenge him, and brandish a duster in his direction in a vague hand. In fact, he thinks he’s getting the irritation more from some kind of projection, because the being doesn’t really have a face per say, more a kind of wispy sludge, although approximately where its face would be, there are two indents looking like furrowed eyebrows. 

“Uh…” He blinks, trying to wake himself up. “I’ll… be down… soon?” He mumbles distractedly, and looks down. He realises his state of dress – namely, minimal, only a thin shirt and trousers, and goes a bright red, slamming the door. 

“Rude!” He hears, and some muttering about the state of customers nowadays, but the cleaner does seem to move on, regardless. Tadashi tries to calm his racing heart, and goes about getting dressed as swiftly as possible. He can’t afford another stay here, not even close. The rope and medications and knife gets shoved right to the bottom of his pack as he shoves his mostly dry clothes from yesterday (earlier today?) in there. He can’t help but pocket a towel too, just in case. It might come in handy, and he feels infinitely bad stealing it, but equally, he doesn’t know where he’ll be staying tonight. He needs all the help he can get. 

Tadashi, unwilling to stand around and get told he needs to pay more, leaves a few coins on the counter when no one is looking and slips out. No one seems to notice, something he’s incredibly thankful for – something he’s become good at is being invisible. 

So he’s back in the market again. He reckons he’s got a few hours before he has to try and find the moon god again, and if he’s going to get anywhere, he needs work. He hopes it’s like the human world and tries to apply the principle of don’t ask don’t get. 

It… doesn’t quite work. He tries at the yakisoba stall, and thinks he’s off to a good start with being given a half hour trial. It doesn’t end quite so well when he’s told he needs to speed up after twenty minutes, and then kicked out. The cat woman is a vicious boss, however sweet she comes across to customers. He tries tens of the shops, but they all regard him with suspicion. Maybe they can smell the _other_ on him, like that kitsune had. They all say they don’t need anyone and whisper conspiratorially when they think he’s not looking. He tries to make himself look as worthwhile as possible, but it doesn’t come naturally. Several hours later, the moon has already reached the peak of its arc in the sky, and he has no job, no money, and nowhere to stay. Nothing to show for all his effort, and running out of time. Feeling defeated, he spends the last of his money on two sugared rice crackers, and trudges back to the approximate spot he left the forest. 

He pauses a minutes’ walk in, the music of the bazaar just faded enough to think he’s probably alone. 

He’s not quite ready to face a god, and plonks himself down onto a dry patch of ground. He stares up, taking a few deep breaths, irritatingly close to tears. How could he have deluded himself into thinking this would be easy? No new start could ever be. He needed to learn the rules, the languages, the currency. Earn money, find a place to fit himself into. Much of it could be condemned under the banner of ‘same problems, different place’. Daily life was daily life anywhere, would here really be different enough? 

Already, he’s thinking of giving up. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Maybe he’s just not made to function, not in the real world, nor even in a fantasy one. If he can’t get work… he is doomed. And nothing will ever change and he’ll find himself back in the forest with a rope and intent again, and just- nothing is going to change. 

If the problem is him, and his inability to cope with setbacks – _he cannot run away from that_. 

What is he to say to the god? He can’t flee; he wouldn’t wish to fall to magical curses and ill tempers, so he requires protection. Equally, the idea of giving voice to his failure is a rock in his chest. His inner voice turns hateful again, as always. 

“Urgh…” Tadashi groans quietly, burying his head in his hands. Gods are meant to be non-judgemental, aren’t they? But perhaps not this one. He hasn’t done anything noteworthy, just slept too much and gotten ever more hungry. Gods must be immune from such minutia, surely? And his lower abdomen is hurting ominously and he knows exactly why that would be, but he wishes it would wait, or just stop forever and never be a problem again…

Rustling a short way off makes him freeze, and peer over his hands, barely moving. Is it a bear? The god didn’t mention anything about protection from physical threats – does he need to learn to protect himself too? He’s never even considered it –so he doesn’t even know if he is safe from that. Perhaps if he stays still enough it might leave him alone, but it might also smell him, and he _vehemently_ does not wish to get mauled by a bear. 

Alas, through the trees, a deer appears. A female one, judging by the lack of antlers, and it stops a short way away from him. It doesn’t seem to notice him at all, shaking its whole body and- sighing? 

Tadashi frowns. It’s such a human gesture. It sits down heavily on its rump, and closes its eyes. Tadashi watches, momentarily taken away from his crisis by the oddity of it. It takes another deep breath, and scrunches its face up. Slowly, it stops being merely a deer and gains something else. It’s hard for Tadashi to pinpoint the moment it changes exactly, but one moment, it’s a deer there, then it’s a human sat there. On his back the lifeless skin of a deer. The exact one that had just appeared so alive. 

His hair is parted evenly right down the middle, a vivid black. He pulls the pelt from his back and loosely folds it into his lap. From this distance Tadashi can’t really tell too much, but he stares at the pelt in his lap as though it’s more. 

Tadashi realises that he emerged from it. 

“How did you do that?” Tadashi asks, fascinated. “Could you show me?” 

The man snaps his head up and whips it around desperately trying to find who spoke. After a moment, he squints vaguely in Tadashi’s direction. 

“Who are you? Where exactly are you?” The man asks. Tadashi frowns, because he can see the man quite clearly, but he can still go closer. He doesn’t necessarily get the idea that they’re dangerous, so he stands and sidles over, habitually dragging his pack with him. The man stands as he approaches, allowing Tadashi to note more about him. He’s a few inches shorter than Tadashi’s six feet, and continues squinting at him suspiciously until he’s quite close. 

“I’m-” He starts to introduce himself, then recalls the god’s warnings on names. “Um, Kiyoshi.” He’s sure his voice shakes a bit with the lie, but it doesn’t sit quite as wrongly on his tongue. It’s not exactly wrong, and not far from ‘Tadashi’. Technically, Tadashi is only his name because he chose it to be so; all his letters from anything legal come with a name he hates. A name that ought to have died. 

“Oh. Shimada. Nice to meet you.” The man states distractedly.  
“Can you tell me how you did that? Did you turn from a deer? Are you a shifter? Do you have magic? Can you show me?” Tadashi pelts the questions at him. He’s aware of being overwhelming, but equally, he is too curious to reign himself in. 

“Whoa, whoa. One at a time.” Shimada states. “I can’t tell you right now, I have to leave. I did turn from a deer, but how did you see that? I’m not a shifter, I do have magic, and I’m not showing you because I have to go man the stall.” He reels off regardless, and Tadashi remembers that he has somewhere to go, too. 

“Can I come see you later then? Please? I really want to know!” Tadashi pushes. This guy mans a stall – perhaps Tadashi can charm his way into a place there too. He’s a little desperate right now, anyway. 

Shimada huffs, squinting towards the Bazaar.  
“You can follow me if you like, if you don’t pepper me with too many questions.” Shimada steps past him, striding towards the bazaar. “And don’t tell my co-workers yet.” He adds after a pause. Tadashi grimaces, cursing the timing. It’s been nearly 24 hours since he met the god, and he needs to renew the protection – he doesn’t fancy his chances without it. There are too many sharp teeth and clear eyes to wade into that market alone as a human. They haven’t noticed him yet, but he’s overheard conversations about humans various yokai have taken. He’s not eager to be a plaything or a meal. 

“Where do you work?” Tadashi asks. Shimada frowns at him. Tadashi thinks maybe he just needs glasses.  
“I said you could follow.”  
“But I’ve got to do something first, so I’ll need to find you. Won’t it be suspicious if you just pick up a random h- stranger on the way to work? If I come later it’ll be more natural.” Tadashi blithely lies. Shimada considers this for a short moment, glancing once more at the bazaar before sighing. 

“C’mere then.” He says, although he is the one who steps towards Tadashi, still squinting. He then proceeds to poke Tadashi on the forehead, clearly harder than intended, as Shimada winces. “Sorry, stay still…” He mumbles something, and paints some kind of symbol on his forehead. Tadashi is gifted with the innate knowledge of where Shimada works – Shimada Mart, a stall with all kinds of magical ingredients and accessories. He smiles, and Shimada smiles back – although he’s still squinting, which ruins the effect – and turns back. “I’ll see you later then, Kiyoshi.” 

“See you!” Tadashi chirps, and waits until Shimada is out of sight, and for a further minute. Only then does he turn away, walking a little further in before he stops again, and takes a steadying breath. 

“I, uh, I get the feeling if I just walk, I’m not going to find it,” He ventures, eyes darting around the forest. _There_ , he thinks as he spots a cloth looking object that doesn’t quite stick around when he looks directly at it. “Could you show me the way?” He considers an offer, perhaps half a rice cracker - famished, he dare not give up more than that. The wisps flicker into being marking out a path, and don’t seem to wish for anything. 

He follows them, and emerges into the clearing ten minutes later. The god is already waiting, and clicks their teeth. Their kimono is a perfect picture of swelling storm clouds, crackles of lightning amidst the folds, sheets of rain clearly visible. 

“It is inadvisable to keep deities waiting.” The god mutters. A visceral sense of shame washes over Tadashi. 

“I brought you a rice cracker?” He tries, and holds it out. The god’s eyes widen just a little, the storm pausing in its rage.  
“What is it?” They ask, leaning forwards an infinitesimally small distance – enough to betray interest. He considers that perhaps the god has really not experienced any of life down here. 

"They cook rice and then put it into this shape and dehydrate it? I think. Then they add flavouring. Try it." Tadashi says, holding it out. They hesitate for a moment, eyes flickering between the cracker and Tadashi. He sees the exact point that they give in, their head tilting up just slightly, trying to look indifferent whilst only looking more intrigued. 

"It would be remiss to eat whilst standing. Would you like some tea with it?" Tadashi nods, and the table gets conjured once more, as intricate as last night’s. Again, the god makes the matcha in practiced motions, and again, Tadashi takes it. However, this time, he can bring something to the table, and puts one rice cracker on each plate. He got the sweet one, a perfect balance between sugar and salt, and he pushes one towards the god. 

Tadashi takes a sip of tea while the god hesitantly snaps a small chunk off the side. Only a tiny amount, but their eyes widen more. They say nothing, but Tadashi spies a tiny smile quirking the corner of the lips upwards, and thinks he might be forgiven at least a little. 

“It is crunchy.” They remark, peering at it. They pause for a good while. “Humans eat this?” 

“Amongst a lot of other things. Although I got that from the market, so yokai eat it too. Guess they just like Japanese food.” 

“Other things?” 

Tadashi smiles faintly. This could be a long chat, he thinks.

* * *

Hours wiled themselves away in the chatter, Tadashi getting plenty of tea and his mood settling into a beautiful calm, and the god asking a great many questions about food. The god blesses him as the moon brushes the horizon, and they and their table disappear as though never there. Tadashi briefly wonders if he has been hallucinating, but his mind could never be so creative. 

He has few other options than to pursue Shimada and his stall. Perhaps, should he be charming enough, should he be willing enough, Shimada might teach him the shifting. And maybe even give him a job, food and shelter. 

He probably ought to hope for food and shelter above shifting, but he’s always been a curious person. 

Still, it is enough to draw him away from the clearing back to the market, rather than wallowing in self-pity. The god’s mark is warm on his forehead next to Shimada’s, thankfully not overlapping. It’s an odd sensation, following a very literal mental map, allowing himself to be tugged in directions he does not innately know. 

Finally after several minutes of walking, he ends up at a moderately sized stall. There is plenty of magical potion making paraphernalia, vials and conical flasks, measuring equipment, pestles, mortars, and many instruments he could not make a guess at the use of. There are a few customers milling around, or nearby, glancing over the wares, or checking a list. A being with fire for hair and sparks emitting from their person is bargaining with another store clerk. It’s not Shimada, but Tadashi is assured it is the right stall, not only from his mental map saying so, but the banner out front telling all it is ‘Shimada Mart’. 

“Oh, Kiyoshi, wasn’t it?” A voice close to his ear makes him turn, to find Shimada himself, smiling slightly.  
“Y-yes, it was. Is.” Tadashi mumbles, linking his hands together. Now he’s here, he’s nervous. “Um, could you show me-” He starts, but Shimada puts a finger over his mouth.  
“Yeah, but not here, not now. Say, don’t suppose you could keep an eye on the till for a while in return? I’ve got tidying to do and Ayano is always getting distracted.” Shimada jabs a thumb at the person bargaining with the fire being – now Tadashi looks again, it looks as though the bargaining has been thoroughly forgotten in favour of chatting about some festival or something casual. 

“Uh.” Tadashi says, nerves flaring again. He’s never had to really deal with customers.  
“It’ll only be a short while, and I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I’ll come over if there’s any trouble.” Shimada says, and points over at the till, some rather archaic looking thing, more like a typewriter than anything Tadashi would know how to work. 

Tadashi remembers he hopes to get some food and a roof over his head for at least one night.  
“When do you close?” He asks. Shimada glances up at the sky, finds the moon, eyes flickering between a few stars and then back down again.  
“When the sun rises, so about three hours?”  
“Um, so, I- have a small problem. I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight, or any money…” Tadashi starts, bashfully, wringing his hands together. Shimada raises an eyebrow. “So if I help for that time, could I, maybe…?” Understanding dawns on Shimada’s face. 

“Oh, I see. Yeah, why not? I’ve got an extra futon and some space. My cooking isn’t great, though.” He scratches the back of his head, smiling sheepishly. 

“I’ve had one meal in the last two days, I don’t care what it tastes like.” Tadashi pleads, and sees the point at which Shimada gives up.  
“Okay, okay, put the eyes away. Anyone will start thinking you’re trying to be a siren like that. I’ve already said yes, anyway.” He points to the till. “If you don’t slack off on there, I’ll feed you.” 

“And show me how to-”  
“Yes yes, now go. I’ve got tidying to do.” He flaps his hands to make Tadashi move and yells that there’s an apron he ought to wear. So, Tadashi finds himself stood behind a counter with a till that is hissing at him. He eyes it wearily, keeping his fingers far away from the drawer - _are those teeth?!_ \- in fear of losing them. A perfectly serviceable method of working until, of course, the fire being finally finishes negotiating prices, and wishes to pay. 

Tadashi blinks, gingerly taking the items off zem. He tallies it up in his head, and states the price. Of course, he does not get yen in return. 

“The till is called Jemini!” Shimada shouts, although he is in a delicate balancing situation and looks unable to swiftly extract himself. “Just ask it to sort the change!” 

Tadashi pauses for a moment, eyeing the till – Jemini, apparently – as though his problems might spontaneously resolve. They do not, and the fire being is getting a little impatient. Tadashi takes a deep breath. He’s looked more stupid in his life. He will definitely have looked more stupid, he thinks, although it is little consolation; still, he swallows his pride in his desperation, and holds the gold coin out to Jemini, and bows deeply. 

“Jemini-sama, if you could please arrange the change for this valued customer.” The words flow out of him somehow – he suspects the moon god might be involved. Jemini stops hissing immediately. 

The drawer opens just a little. A shadowy hand on an… arm, of sorts, extends and takes the golden coin, before snaking back in. After a great deal of rummaging, it produces a copper coin and two silver ones, and he presents these back to the fire being, and wraps the items while ze puts the coins away. He hands zem the items and ze walks off. 

“Jemini-sama, you have my utmost gratitude for your service.” He murmurs, bowing again. He notices a few shadowy arms flailing about, with some happy chirping rising from the till. 

Ayano, having approached, whistles.  
“First time. It didn’t even bite you.” He remarks, sounding thoroughly impressed. Shimada wanders over too, and stares at the till, both hands on his hips and a look of awe in his eyes.  
“Huh. Jemini, behaving itself?” The till pauses in its chirruping to emit a hiss. Tadashi warily pats the top of it, and it soon returns to its happy noises. Shimada looks between him and the till several times, then at Ayano, who shrugs. “You know what, you said you didn’t have any money. Do you want a job?” 

“Really?” Tadashi questions, bewildered. Nothing ever comes so easily to him. “Just like that?” 

Shimada and Ayano share a puzzled look.  
“Well, Jemini has some… casualties. I knew you weren’t going to be one of them, because it didn’t start smoking when you got near the shop, but it usually takes… a _long_ time to warm up to people.” Tadashi tries to process this, but Shimada continues regardless. “It still hates me, for some reason. Ayano can get away with it sometimes, but not always.” Ayano does not hesitate to show his wrists, covered in scratches and pockmarks of teeth, and long scars where it looks as though he had to wrench his hands out of something sharp. 

“The less I have to deal with that pixie till, the better.” Ayano says, relieved. Shimada nods.  
“You can stay at mine while you find somewhere to stay. The boss will pay, he owes a debt to Jemini and anyone who can handle it even slightly well.” 

“Oh. Well, thank you! I’ll do my best!” He beams at them, and at Jemini. It murmurs merrily the entire rest of the evening, and does actually behave. Ayano and Shimada keep sending him disbelieving glances throughout the evening; Tadashi sets about learning the currency and how it works, between customers. Jemini is only too happy to help. 

He is beyond tired once they finally shoo the last customer away and place protection spells around the stall. He traipses after Shimada, his eyelids heavy and his steps sluggish. Luckily it is not a long walk to a small cottage, set apart from a cluster of them that Ayano walks to. He barely stays awake long enough to brush his teeth and get changed, and gleefully collapses into the futon already laid out for him.

* * *

Roused by the delectable scent of cooking, Tadashi follows his nose into the kitchen, where Shimada is stood in front of the stove. It takes little time with Tadashi helping for them both to be sat at the low table, Tadashi shovelling food into his mouth as fast as he can physically manage without choking. Shimada snorts at him, but refrains from commenting. Only once they are finished, and sipping at tea – unfortunately paling utterly into significance next to matcha from a god – does Shimada say anything much. 

“Why would you want to learn the craft of peltmaking? To wear them, I would assume, but why?” he asks, and Tadashi thinks on it a moment. He hasn’t really… thought about it as such, but if he does, it’s- escape. Shimada could wear a doe’s pelt, and become that. There is no part of him that does not wish for such escape. 

"I’ve always wanted to wear a skin that was not my own. Always wanted to do things unattainable for this body, like flight, diving, night vision…" _An alternate gender_ , he thinks to himself. “To take on a different form, even temporarily… isn’t that every- every person’s dream?” He has to stop himself saying that he is human. If Shimada has noticed, he hasn’t mentioned it. 

“Hmm, well. Lots of the beings around here are shifters, or having shape-shifting talents. I doubt many of them have even thought about being something else. The others, I don’t believe have.” Shimada muses, thoughtful, staring up at the arching ceiling above them. “It’s not a wildly popular craft. My family would have my hide if they found out I do that in my spare time, rather than potions. They see it as an insult to shifters, and a waste of time.” 

“Is it?” Tadashi questions, because he doesn’t see how. Shimada huffs a laugh.  
“I’ve asked shifters, and they never seem to think so. They can easily identify someone wearing a pelt compared to a shifter compared to a real animal. But everyone else never seems to listen when they say they don’t care.” He shrugs, and takes a sip of tea from rough earthenware mugs, thick and comforting to hold. They have none of the finesse of the god’s china, but Tadashi likes them just as much. “It’s not so easy maintaining a pelt, anyway, shifters will tell you so, but for non-shifters even more so. And you require magic to wear one.” 

It’s a plunge of cold water. 

“How so?” He asks, his voice thin. Shimada gives him an odd look as though it ought to be obvious.  
“Well, most of the magic is required to mould your body into the new shape, and attach your soul into the pelt. It’s best to enchant the pelts to ensure their longevity, too.” 

“Oh, I see.” Tadashi remarks, insides swirling. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. If it was, humans would be doing it. They would have found a way. Magic. Cursed is he that is not born in this world. Perhaps he can ask the moon god. “How do you make a pelt, though? I’d love to learn.” He says, diverting. Shimada, proud of his craft, is only too happy to start explaining. 

“Of course! Now, the first thing to hold in mind is to respect the animal. A pelt that has not been respected or blessed shall not wear properly, if at all.” Tadashi nods, although he doesn’t think he truly understands. He doesn’t think he will until he’s seen the process. “This leads on to the next point – you must take an animal with minimal impact on the population, thus respecting the species.” 

“That makes sense. Could you take me through the process? I don’t have magic, but even so…” Tadashi wrings his hands together. Shimada beams from the corner of his vision. 

“Definitely! And others have attained magic before, don’t count yourself completely out.” 

It’s a spark of hope, again. It’s enough. For now, he has a job, a roof over his head, and something to put his energy into learning, and his mind into finding.

* * *

His days gain a pleasing monotony. He works, finds new ways to interact with and entertain Jemini. Shimada becomes his mentor, in more than just pelt-making; after finding Tadashi wrapping bandages around his breasts, cursing them, he makes no hesitation to enchant a piece of cloth to do the job better and in a more comfortable way. He gets into potion making, finding ingredients and helping Shimada out that way. He makes friends with the smith a few stores down, who calls himself Suga; he too is impressed by Tadashi’s ability to wield Jemini. 

Visited by one of the four winds of the compass, she tells him she came to see who the human was making such a profound influence on a god. In doing so, she gives him a nickname to use for the moon god: Tsukki. 

Using it is the first time Tadashi sees Tsukki blush. But the god smiles faintly after that when they believe Tadashi is not watching, so Tadashi does not think he has made a real transgression. 

She only stays a short while, long enough to determine something for herself, before she is gone, frivolous and fleeting as winds are wont to be. Tadashi wonders if he will see her again, and what the other winds are like. A whole extra world of possibility opens up for him, and once again, he muses that in his attempted end of a life, he has found another within which he lives with such vivid colour – he cannot contemplate returning to greyscale. He doesn't have the words to thank the moon god, but he takes him a shortcake adorned with strawberries, a lumpy attempt of his own with Shimada’s help, which swiftly becomes the god's favourite. 

His time with the moon god, however, gets curtailed by the pressures of having work to do and his human need for sleep. He never misses his allotted time to meet with Tsukki, but his time grows shorter the more he has to do elsewhere. He wishes he could take Tsukki with him, wishes he could bring them down from the sky to be with him longer, wishes he could grant Tsukki the freedom they so direly deserve, having spent an eternity merely watching. 

But he doesn't know how. The god, when asked how he appears, informs him it has to do with moon rocks steeped in certain kinds of magic, a rare occurrence. Tadashi curses once more his lack of magic, his lack of ability to gift Tsukki that freedom, and looks further into trying to attain his magic. It'll be a deal, he knows it will, and even then, it will only be the start; the question is, what is he willing to sacrifice for Tsukki's ability to walk freely?

On quiet days in the stall, he stares up at the moon and wonders. 

Wonders how he can bring Tsukki to life, and bring life to Tsukki. And what it will take to do so.

* * *

Above it all, the moon watches. It watches its ward grow into his skin, and grow into his new role. It watches months pass, watches hair grow long and then cut short, watches the clumsy motions of potion making become fluid, the language tripping off the tongue starts to flow. It watches his interactions with his new friends, growing more comfortable. It feels pride, and awe, for this human does what it has never been able; recover. Such a human thing to fall over and renew themselves, and it envies that characteristic. 

It- envies. It envies this human, free to come and go as he pleases. It envies the free smile he wears, the floating laughter, the joyous steps when he has made progress. It envies all the foods he will eat, fresh from the stove. It envies the chance to speak, to feel, to live. It envies the ability to see, up close. It envies his motion, unhindered by inane rules by undefined powers. 

Its ward is searching for magic. It cannot help but ponder what shall happen afterwards; certainly a breaking, and further disconnect. With magic, its ward will be able to defend himself, and therefore, its protection shall be moot. 

The moon has lived in solitude for so long that this connection is more valuable than life to it. It fears the day it must go without it, fears the day its ward attains magic. It remains quiet when he asks, for fear that with magic he shall abandon it, and what then? When next shall it find another interaction? When next shall it find any kind of connection? 

When next shall it be able to fall?

It watches, something heavy in its thoughts, as its ward grows ever more confident, stretching his wings into places he’d never have gone, asking forbidden questions: _can you give me magic_. Watches, with each negative answer, as its ward grows not disheartened, but more determined. There blazes a fire in his soul, which mere months before had been so pitifully dying. Had even gone out, and in rousing him, the moon had roused his spirit and his life once more, to live out his final chance; it has lived through him in that chance, unwilling to see its hard work go to waste. It dreads that time where he will leave it, for this is an inevitability it knows all too well. 

But what it shall do is protect him. Therefore, it gazes on as its ward asks, once, twice, a thousand times: _can you give me magic _and asks for a price. Sometimes the price asked for is far too great, sometimes, it is deemed impossible. Sometimes, it feels its protection be tested, and glares with blind eyes if it is not in the sky to see.__

__Yet he hones in on a choice that it may have given him, had it been less fearful, whom it knows can, and might, for the right price. It knows not that price, and trusts that man only to hold air, but it knows that he will give its ward what he wishes._ _

__The moon watches, and counts its cycles until it shall be alone once more._ _

* * *

__The moon is creeping over the horizon in the twilight when he approaches Terushima’s lair._ _

__To call it a hole in the ground would be an insult, if not precisely false; there is a door leading underground, two lanterns struck of fire burning next to it. It would have been quite normal, had the fire not been purple, and whispered. Tendrils of flames dart out like fingers as he passes, trying to catch him. They know he is human. They know physical injury would harm him, but he presses on._ _

__A powerful yokai, the rumours in the bazaar have whispered in his ear. One for a bargain, likes to please his queen. He has travelled far for this, and Tadashi will not go home empty-handed. He has a sense of duality about this. He will leave victorious, or he shall not leave. Sending a mental apology to Tsukki should this go wrong, he descends the steps, his footfalls heavy in the space, eyes unseen in the dark. Terushima is worshipped around here, his followers loyal. Tadashi knows if he should step wrongly, he will not leave._ _

__Duality. Success, or death. Tsukki will not be able to help him here._ _

__Reaching the end of the steps, he is informed to wait in a gilted chamber, to await an audience. The yokai king, some have called Terushima, for what else has a queen, and a court to himself?_ _

__Tadashi has an inkling that the queen is the highest ruler here, and he feels that Terushima knows it. He cannot say how he knows. Like he knew he stood afore a god, like he knew he was a man. It is an innate knowing, a subconscious truth within him._ _

__He has not long to fret before he is called. Standing, he straightens his kimono, imbued with a protection of Shimada and Ayano’s, sheds his oiled leather boots, made with Shimada’s help, and sets into the sizable throne room._ _

__Terushima is practicing with a naginata, nimble elegant steps that seem like dancing. A glint of light from the blade tells him of its reality, the blood shed by its edge. Terushima has golden hair, and surprises Tadashi with the constraint of his attire; practice robes, white with a gold sash. One ring adorns his finger, his movements too swift to ascertain any details, and tattoos creeping out from under his robes – up his neck, over his hands and feet. His ears and nose carry more gold than Tadashi has ever owned._ _

__The room itself is an incredibly traditional room, tatami mats covering the floor and two alcoves on the opposite wall to Tadashi, symmetrically set apart either side of the throne. Within each alcove sits an _ikebana_ arrangement, before a domineering wall-scroll – ‘Simplicity and Fortitude’, Tadashi thinks they read. The intricate wooden throne sits in one half of the room furthest away from the Tadashi, on a higher floor level, the ceiling raised above the throne itself. Terushima is practicing on the lowered section, an audible _swish_ as the blade cuts through the air at speed. _ _

__Tadashi knows better than to speak or sit, having learned in his now numerous encounters with powerful yokai. He stands, and waits._ _

__It is a practiced motion of Terushima’s, between a karate kata and a dance; mesmerising to watch, he gets lost in the performance and forgets that he cannot be at ease. He finds himself with a blade at his throat._ _

__“What do you want of me? Money, power, magic?” Tadashi cannot help but flinch at the last, and Terushima’s bronze eyes glitter with bemusement. “Magic, is it? You, the powerless, choose to stand before me? I shall cut you down in your insolence.”_ _

__He makes to advance forwards with the blade, but it glances off something. Terushima frowns, and seems to delve into the protection, a wry smile growing into his face._ _

__“A moon god’s protection, I see…” He spins the naginata deftly and puts the blunt end to the floor. “Make your request.”_ _

__Tadashi finds his throat thick with nerves, but swallows.  
“I require magic. I have tried many others, but none so powerful as you. They have failed me, I hope you shall not.” _ _

__Terushima raises an eyebrow.  
"Why, to gift you with magic, I'd require an entire organ. And that would not be in your best interests." He remarks, spinning the ring on his finger, his face twisted into a condescending smirk. He believes himself to have won. _ _

__Tadashi believes him, for a long moment. He cannot survive without organs, but he cannot achieve his goals without magic to call his own. Tsukki will remain in the sky, and he’ll be left here having to rely on him just to live. No, it’s meaningless, this freedom he’s now earned without magic to do as he pleases._ _

__However… there _is_ one organ. Just one, that he could do without. It wouldn’t kill him, hopefully. It’d actually help him. A small smile fights to show itself, and he raises his head.  
“May I pick the organ?” he asks. Terushima pauses, puzzled, then laughs raucously. _ _

__“You are an utter fool. Magic shall not help a corpse. You are aware?”  
“I am aware. May I choose the organ you take?” Tadashi insists. Terushima pauses for a long while before answering with a shrug. _ _

__“I'll humour you. Which would you pick? They all lead to doom, boy.”_ _

__“I pick my uterus. You can take the entire reproductive tract." Tadashi throws a smirk of his own. "I'll even throw in two lumps of tissue. Won't that be a good meal?"_ _

__Terushima stares at him, aghast. His eyes flit down his body, and back up again._ _

__"A uterus is an organ, is it not?" Tadashi baits him. "Are you not good enough to take that? Is it too difficult? I'm sure I could find another who would take it." He’s not so certain he could, all the beings he’s been to, but it hardly matters. Terushima spends another minute in shock, before snapping his head back and barking a laugh. When he puts his head down again, his eyes are determined, the corner of his lip quirked up into a smirk._ _

__“Unbelievable. Shake my head, and the deal shall be done.” Terushima snorts, and holds his hand out.  
“You take my reproductive tract, and I’ll get magic, correct?” Tadashi confirms.  
“Of course. I am a man of my word, and one with such… courage to offer such a deal, well. Who am I to refuse?” _ _

__Tadashi looks at the outstretched hand and takes a breath. He meets Terushima’s eyes, and shakes it. It is a firm handshake, and Tsukki’s protection lies dormant. This, at least, is safe._ _

* * *

__There is an incredible lightness to his body, walking out of Terushima’s palace. There is pain, but it is a freeing feeling, not having his chest bound in any way, feeling, for once, like he fits in the body he has. The world feels like a new place, and soon, Tadashi thinks to himself, it truly will be._ _

__Where before lay nothing, now lies power. It curls around his fingers, explores its new owner, its new shape. Terushima had remarked that it had been remarkably simple, more like activating something that truly gifting it, and begrudgingly admitted it might even outlast the loan of power. While wanting it to continue, Tadashi would be happy even if it only existed long enough to bring Tsukki freedom._ _

__The wisps line his path back to the bazaar, whispering gleefully, and the very first thing he does is head straight to their clearing. The start, and the end; except, hopefully not a true end. Not an end to them, but to the moon god’s indenture on the moon, tethered needlessly._ _

__The moon is at its zenith when he reaches it. Tsukki is sat, legs tucked underneath them, tea already on the table. They don’t meet Tadashi’s eyes, merely pours him a tea and pushes it towards him._ _

__“I see you have obtained magic-” Tsukki starts._ _

__“Bring me a moon rock, Tsukki.” Tadashi says, cutting across the god’s words. The god pauses, bewildered. “Bring me the smallest moon rock that could call you down.”_ _

__“It would cause a crash.” They say, wary._ _

__“How much of a crash? Can’t you bring it with you?” Tsukki shakes his head slowly, puzzled. “Bring it to the sea, then. I’ll get it.”_ _

__“For what purpose? They have no magical properties.” The god reminds him, ornery. Tadashi fights a smile. If only they could see. If only they could realise that those moon rocks held a magic beyond power, beyond any ability of the most powerful being. The ability to allow a god to freely appear on Earth. It is a most sought after power. And he is so close to having it._ _

__So close to being able to give it back._ _

__“You will see, Tsukki. Promise me, alright?”_ _

__Tsukki stares at him, a doubtful look on his face. His kimono shows a clouded sky, moon and stars both hidden from sight._ _

__“I suppose… If you promise me another of those strawberry cakes.”_ _

__Tadashi grins. If this all goes well, Tsukki can help him make it. He does not say so, though.  
“Definitely.” Tsukki looks uncertain as they disappear, and to the absence, Tadashi smiles softly. “I’m not just going to leave you alone, Tsukki.” _ _

__He’s pretty sure they heard._ _

* * *

__It’s a journey to get it. He takes Shimada to the ocean with him; they have to obtain the pelt of a fur seal. Tadashi has to get used to wearing it, and diving down into the shadowy depths of the ocean where Tsukki told him they’d dropped it. It takes a few weeks all told; then they trek back so Tadashi can get the rock, about the size of a small persimmon, put in a pendant._ _

__The rock is irregular and speckled, although largely dark, the outer layer fused to a shiny dark grey in the heat of falling. It’s a good weight, as Tadashi holds it in his palm. He refuses to let it out of his sight for even a moment, rolls it over and over and hopes Tsukki will still visit him when they are free._ _

__For Suga to fashion the pendant takes several days. In the interim, Tadashi makes sure to tell Tsukki all about the things he’d seen on his voyage, while avoiding the reason for all this. He can tell the god is duly curious, but he wants it to be at least something of a surprise._ _

__While the pendant is being made, Tadashi practices the spells he’ll need over and over, until he shakes with exhaustion. It’ll be worth it, getting it perfect. He doesn’t wish to make Tsukki wait any longer than necessary._ _

__Once it is returned, Tadashi has to pause for a moment to admire the work. It’s cost him dearly, nearly three month’s wages, but it will be worth every single coin. It is fashioned of silver, a spiralling chain that defies physics to move smoothly, a silken, cool texture when touched. It seems as though crafted from moonlight, appropriately enough: Tadashi knew he could trust Suga to make a beautiful piece. It will look beautiful around Tsukki’s neck, befitting of his beguiling looks and subtle beauty. The lunar meteorite is held on either side by this chain, seeming to just float there, but he knows it is secure._ _

__All he must do now is enchant it._ _

__From what he had gathered, Tsukki required a moon rock to be imbued with magic, and some kind of inciting factor. Tadashi suspects that it might just be an extra level of magic, the spark of vitality perhaps that Tadashi had brought to the clearing. He has every faith this will work though. If it fails, he will merely try over and over until he succeeds._ _

* * *

__Stationed in a secluded bit of forest not too far from Shimada’s cottage, Tadashi takes a deep breath, and sits on the soft woven blanket, shifting until he is as comfortable as he can get. The pendant is set in a small bowl before him. He’s arranged several stones and crystals to give him the guiding hand of the stars, and the protection of the earth and sun. The inscriptions drawn on his cheeks ward him from evil, and from pain._ _

__This _will_ work. _ _

__He finds his connection to that well within him, opened by Terushima; he draws a silver-green thread of magic up, and begins to tie it, into an intricate knot. This one for visibility. Once he’s done, he picks up the necklace, and presses it to his forehead, and transfers it over. He makes another, for stability. Protection. Freedom. Power. Promise. Guidance. Discovery. He places so many charms on it, that he can see it glow even with his eyes shut. It will fade into the stone given a little time, but it makes him smile nonetheless._ _

__The final thing he places on the meteorite is the one he hesitates with most. He’s been trying to decide about since the idea first started to crystallise. Love. It is not a spell, as such. It is a gentle tide of his magic, and a kiss pressed to the stone, his sincere wish for Tsukki to see sights as they wish to, without having to use secondary eyes, ears, fingers, noses, mouths. His wish to give Tsukki their senses, to gift them the world. To repay them for all the protection, and let them know that they may leave, should they desire. They may walk the world unshackled, because Tadashi loves them enough to let them go._ _

__He hopes that they will return to him someday, but he will wave them off with a bright smile._ _

__Opening his eyes, he finds the lunar meteorite glowing a gentle silvery green, and smiles._ _

__He then faints._ _

* * *

__At first, he thinks he is dreaming. Tsukki’s table is set up a short distance from him, the god sipping tea serenely._ _

__But the blanket is still underneath him, a soft sensation on his cheek, a faded red shade in his vision. A crystal is poking into his back. And on closer inspection, the god’s face isn’t quite as serene as the whole picture paints, a tension there that shouldn’t be._ _

__They aren’t in the clearing._ _

__Tadashi snaps into a sitting position, halting there until his vision clears and his head stops spinning. The stone is there too, a faint twinkling glow about it._ _

__“Yamaguchi?” It is only knowing Tsukki so well that he hears the worry there. He turns and beams at the god, wearing a puzzled expression. “Could you explain all this?”_ _

__“It worked!” he cries, unable to stop himself grinning. “You’re here!”_ _

__Tsukki blinks, as though only now pondering that fact. Tadashi cannot find the moon in the sky, hidden behind trees. The ebb of the sunset is not yet gone from the sky, proving it has not been long._ _

__“What worked?” the god asks. Tadashi shakes his head.  
“No, stand up. I’ll show you.” Tsukki does as asked with no complaints, only a raised eyebrow and some curiosity. Tadashi picks up the pendant, shimmering more now Tsukki is here, imbuing it with light without even knowing. Standing, he shuffles over to the god. “Lower your head a little.” _ _

__When Tsukki does, he places the necklace over their head reverently, until it comes to rest over Tsukki’s heart. Tadashi adjusts it slightly so it is sitting nicely, and then, only then, realises this is the closest he has ever been to the moon god. But he cannot step away, enraptured; his hands hover, almost resting on Tsukki’s chest, just below his collarbone. Their kimono is a picture of changing skies, all phases of the moon, wisps of clouds flitting over it, the stars twinkling frantically. Tadashi looks up, finding Tsukki looking back._ _

__“What is this?” Tsukki questions softly. The tone indicates they have an idea.  
“It’s- I wanted to give you freedom. I hope that that will give you the ability to walk wherever, to experience everything you wish to. It is my gratitude to you, for saving me.” Tadashi whispers, never once looking away. He cannot. Their eyes gleam, and up so close, Tadashi cannot decipher the meaning. _ _

__“This is more than a thousand years’ worth of protection would earn. You did not have to do this,” Tsukki breathes. “I am forever indebted to you.” He says it with such care, as though debt is a good thing._ _

__“There is no debt. You are free. That’s all the payment I require. Although… if you would return and visit occasionally, I’d like that…” Tadashi adds hesitantly. But the god does not move, does not breathe, for a minute._ _

__Then Tsukki wraps their hands around his face, and Tadashi is lost in their eyes, their everything. The rest of the world ceases to exist, purely the two of them. Their kimono is a pure full moon, bright as can be, high above a summer’s night and proud of its place in the sky. Tadashi cannot breathe._ _

__“Words cannot describe my gratitude to you. If you should let me, I shall wish to spend a great many of my orbits beside you.”_ _

__The idea that he would not wish for that, had not been wishing that for the last few months at least, is ridiculous. A hysterical glee overcomes him, and he throws himself into Tsukki to embrace them._ _

__“I’d love that. Spend as much of your time as you want with me, I won’t complain.” He murmurs into the silken fabric of the kimono; only a short pause later, he feels their arms wrapping around him tightly, and relaxes._ _

__Tsukki smells of ozone, of a pure kind of air, indefinable. Almost like the scent just after rain, the freshness carried in the wind, but it smells like a sensation, a feeling of _I can do this_ , a deep breath in to fill the lungs, and out because _he can do this.__ _

___They can do this_ _ _

__Together._ _

* * *

__We end our story beneath a moon. It finds itself within the arms of a human, held tightly, and finds a universe there to explore. It finds itself free of its shackles by that human’s hand. It finds itself free. All the blessed relief that freedom shall inspire in its formerly isolated heart. All the fear that freedom shall bring with it, for being free is a monumental thing to a being ensnared beyond its control since it first ascended into the skies, and began watching._ _

__It knows not the future. It knows not the places it shall go, the things it shall eat, the sights it shall see. It knows not the challenges ahead of it, although certain they exist._ _

__Yet it does not think of those. It thinks instead of the existence this human has brought to it. It thinks of how the human is unaware of the gravity his gift has wrought. He has brought a god down from the heavens, laid a trail on the earth to take its footsteps. He has given it the earth. It may swim in the oceans it has watched for so long, it may climb the highest mountains. It may breathe the air of a thousand cities, speak a thousand words to a thousand people, of whom it has watched endlessly but never truly seen._ _

__This human, who when given a crutch, began to hobble, walk, then run; who now sprints with the winds and _lives_ with every second of his time, with every breath in his lungs, with every beat of his heart. Who has found his way back from oblivion, made a place for himself. Who offers that place beside him to it. _ _

__It is not often a god feels humbled. It is not often that it feels._ _

__It finds itself honoured to take that place beside him, and to start a life with him. It shall watch no longer; it shall live._ _

__We started our story beneath a moon. We end our story beneath a rising moon, tracking new paths into new skies._ _

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked it! It was written for the Haikyuu Tales zine, based on fairytales! I had great fun writing it and working with a great team, and it was an honour to be included.


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